"I won't, Florrie," he answered, stoutly and smilingly. "I'm born to be hanged, you know. I won't drown. Come on—I must get Sampson."
They descended—Denman picking up his pistol on the way—and found Sampson quietly waiting at the end of the tablecloth. With his life temporarily safe, his natural courage had come to him.
"I'm going to tow you forward to the anchor ladder, Sampson. You'll have to climb it the best way you can; for there isn't a purchase on board that will bear your weight. Hold tight now."
He untied Florrie's knot, and slowly dragged the big man forward, experiencing a check at the break of the forecastle, where he had to halt and piece out the tablecloth with a length of signal halyards, but finally got Sampson to the ladder. Sampson had some trouble in mounting, for his shackles would not permit one hand to reach up to a rung without letting go with the other; but he finally accomplished the feat, and floundered over the rail, where he sat on deck to recover himself. Finally he scrambled to his feet.
"Mr. Denman," he said, "you've saved my life for me, and whatever I can do for you, except"—his face took on a look of embarrassment—"except going back on my mates, as I said, I will do, at any time of my life."
"That was what I might have suggested," answered Denman, calmly, "that you aid me in controlling this crew until we reach Boston."
"I cannot, sir. There is prison for life for all of us if we are taken; and this crowd will break out, sir—mark my words. You won't have charge very long. But—in that case—I mean—I might be of service. I can control them all, even Forsythe, when I am awake."
"Forsythe!" grinned Denman. "You can thank Forsythe for your round-up. If he hadn't remained sober enough to attempt to break into Miss Fleming's room while you were all dead drunk, I might not have knocked him out, and might not have roused myself to tie you all hand and foot."
"Did he do that, sir?" asked Sampson, his rugged features darkening.
"He did; but I got there in time to knock him out."